


Run Straight into Your Arms

by judgementdays



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:19:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgementdays/pseuds/judgementdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“First of all, fuck you,” Louis says, loud and unbashful. He’s tipsy, angry in a way Nick hasn’t seen him before, at least not in person.<br/>“Fuck you,” Nick repeats, slowly closing the door after him. Louis whirls around on his heel, eyes flashing red.<br/>“You don’t get to say fuck you to me. You didn’t fucking call me!” He snaps, voice raising levels beyond Nick’s hearing range. He briefly wonders if Pig can hear him, but decides not to investigate further on that subject, it might get him slapped.</p>
<p>or,</p>
<p>Louis and Nick have trouble communicating. It all works out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Straight into Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dickviolin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickviolin/gifts).



> hello dickviolin!! i chose your prompt about louis showing up drunk and tipsy at nick's flat and took it from there. i hope you enjoy as i really enjoyed writing this. thank you to @millionarelouis on tumblr for beta'ing this :)
> 
> this probably takes place around 2013/2012 but i had no set date in mind. like obviously zayn is still in the band bc i couldn't not write him... still though i like to imagine 19 year old louis as i write so you should too :')
> 
> title from Vance Joy's Straight Into Your Arms and I highly suggest listening to that song bc it's gold 
> 
> and with that, enjoy!

“Nick Grimshaw. Open your eyes. Nick. Nick!” Louis’ voice is loud and booming in his ears, alerting him awake. He sits up so quickly that blood rushes to his head, and he reaches out to grab something, as if reaching for a weapon to protect himself.

“What, what?” Nick asks, hurriedly, his mind playing through the worst case scenarios. _Intruder_. One of Louis’ crazy stalker fans broke through his security and ended up in his house. Or maybe Louis burnt down the kitchen trying to make tea, or worse, maybe Louis is bleeding to death and needs Nick to call the emergency room.

But then he hears laughter. Louis is watching him with curious, fond eyes, dressed in a big, baggy jumper that probably does not belong to him. (Definitely doesn’t belong to him - Nick specifically remembers buying that jumper for himself) “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Louis says, amused. Nick could probably shoot him in that moment, but his hands stay very still as his eyes turn to look at the clock. Four in the morning.

On his day off.

“What,” he repeats, voice slow, churning from morning roughness, “In fucking hell are you doing up? Better yet, why in fucking hell am I up at this time?” He snaps, wondering if he could reach up and strangle him right now, but Louis looks too pretty and sleepy for him to even consider it for more than a few seconds.

“I’m leaving today, silly,” Louis says casually, as if he isn’t, you know. Leaving. And, oh, right. Leaving. Today. Louis. Gone, bye, bye, bye.

“Oh. Right,” Nick says dumbly, and watches with lazy eyes as Louis seems to disregard former plans and instead plops himself down in Nick’s lap, who just wraps his arms around his waist, hugs him to his chest. They don’t talk about this a lot. The cuddle part of the relationship, where they hold each other and it’s not rough sex or dry jokes shared back and forth, but a moment shared between the two of them. It’s both the hardest and easiest thing, not talking about it.

“My big bad popstar, leaving me to travel the world,” Nick says mournfully into his hair. Louis smells like his shampoo and his cologne and kind of like Niall, too, which is weird but not that weird considering how close those five are.

“You could come with,” Louis reminds him, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Nick knows because he feels the flutter of eyelashes against his neck, and he breathes in a sharp breath, shaking his head with remorse.

“Contrary to popular belief, I actually have a job here, lovely. A job I would probably lose if I became a One Direction roadie,” Nick reasons sadly, slipping his hands beneath Louis’ hoodie to hold his warm skin, all tan and golden beneath Nick’s fingers.

“Nah. No one could ever fire you,” Louis laments into his skin. He’s so sweet in the early hours of the morning. He’s already had his tea, Nick can smell it on his breath, which means he’s just awake enough to see clearly and think rationally - that doesn’t mean he’s in his sarcastic mood yet, though, which is nice.

“D’aw. Thanks sweetheart,” Nick coos, teasingly kissing up Louis’ cheek, messily marking up his neck and laughing as Louis tries to wiggle out of his lap. He probably could if he tried hard enough, but his efforts are halfhearted at best, and after a moment of struggling he sinks back into Nick’s chest, a lightweight against him.

“I hate you,” Louis lies, voice muffled against his skin. Nick squeezes his hips a little, which makes Louis shift, obviously trying to hide a hard on.

“I hate you too, my darling,” Nick repeats, voice low against his ear, eyes closing slowly. “But you better get going. Gonna miss your car, then Harry’s going to yell at me, and where’s the fun in that?”

Louis lifts his head and blinks up at him, all soft and doe-eyed, before he’s smiling. “Harry doesn’t yell at anyone,” he reasons, making no move to get up, despite the fact Nick knows he actually really needs to get up and leave. But he’s trying not to think about that part.

“He’d yell at me if I made you miss your world bloody tour,” Nick snorts, and tries to help him off his lap. “C’mon, love. Are you going to make me carry you out to Alberto’s car?” It’s not even a question, because ten minutes later he’s got a warm Louis all wrapped up in his arms.

Alberto looks amused, and offers to take it over from there once they get outside, since it’s seemed that Louis has fallen asleep again. Typical. The little bastard can sleep anywhere and everywhere, planes being the only exception. “Look how cute Louis looks,” Liam coos when Nick gently sets him down on one of the seats in the car.

Louis, who isn’t asleep anymore, flips Liam off, and leans up to retrieve a kiss from Nick, who is happy to give it to him.

“Call me,” Louis murmurs against his mouth, much to everyone else’s disgust.

“Why don’t you call me?” Nick retorts, but he’s smiling. Louis narrows his eyes.

“You’re calling me,” he repeats, and that’s just kind of it for him in that moment, yeah.

“I will call you,” Nick repeats solemnly, kissing all up his face and laughing when Louis makes an annoyed noise.

“He will,” the four other boys echo in unison. Louis shrugs, like he knew that was coming, and they snog each other for at least two more minutes until Alberto has to physically push on Nick’s chest to get him to step back so they can leave. Louis sticks his head out the window and waves until the car is out of sight. Nick watches him go.

He’ll call. He swears he will.

~

He doesn’t call.

To be fair, though, Louis doesn’t either.

They’re busy people, with busy lives. Nick runs a radio show. Louis is touring the world. He sends Louis a good morning text every now and then and he’ll get one, too, but Louis’ name never lights up his screen, and he doesn’t find himself reaching for his phone to call.

It’s not that he doesn’t miss him, because he does. He misses him dearly. So dearly. So dearly to the point where it hurts to breathe some nights, and he just lays there, clutching the one shirt Louis forgot to pack and trying not to burst into tears.

He’s a grown man. He can handle some separation. It was their time, anyway. They spent the last six months living out of each other’s pockets, and Nick understood why Louis has millions of fans who just adore him, can understand why Louis’ bandmates see him as this untouchable, amazing work of art. He’s so funny, and golden like the sun. He’s sweet and soft but he can be unbearably rude and sarcastic, too. He’s everything Nick would expect and more, he’s this drop of bloody sunshine Nick can’t seem to shake.

And he hasn’t fucking called.

Harry calls. Harry calls all the time. Twice a day, sometimes. Whenever he asks about Louis, though, he clams up, and Nick can hear him shrugging over the phone, like he isn’t sure if he can say it or not, as if Nick isn’t his bloody boyfriend.

“I’m his bloody boyfriend,” Nick snaps one day, tired of getting incomplete answers out of him. Harry is a thousand miles away, but Nick can still see the unimpressed look on his face.

“Then why don’t you call him?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, which is… an awfully good point. Fuck Harry Styles, honestly.

“Because. Because he hasn’t called me,” Nick defends himself weakly, knowing he sounds like a loser at this point, a loser who can’t muster up the courage to call his boyfriend because he’s too scared, because he misses him, because he knows if he hears Louis’ voice he’ll burst into tears and that isn’t good for his reputation.

“That’s a horrible excuse. He said ‘call me’ before we left. And you haven’t. I’m not going to say he’s like, fallen into depression without you, Grimmy, but he’s not happy. That’s all I’m going to say,” Harry admits with a sigh, and his voice is all hushed, so Nick assumes Louis must be near by. He starts listening extra close, hoping to get a glimpse at his voice in the background, maybe joking with Liam or talking to a crew member, something, anything to fuel this stupid fire in his stomach.

“I miss him,” Nick says, miserably. He does. Very much so. He misses Louis laying in his bed, spread out and tan and so pretty, always so pretty. He’s a vision when he’s like that, with the sunlight glistening on his golden skin and making his eyes seem brighter than usual. He misses him laughing at Nick, or just smiling at him, fondly. If he closes his eyes hard enough he can relive those moments over and over, of bliss and comfort, of happiness in ways that seemed indescribable at the time, but now feel so far away, out of touch.

“I know,” Harry says, not sounding as miserable. Why would he? He gets to see Louis every day. Nick is unreasonably jealous of him. “He misses you too. How about you do both of you a favour and go call him?”

“I will,” Nick promises. “I will.” He repeats, more for himself than Harry.

~

He doesn’t call.

He doesn’t call until it’s two in the morning his time, and he’s drunk and sad and so depressed out of his mind that he calls Louis without thinking about it.

“Lo?” Louis’ sleeping voice answers, and Nick’s too drunk to do the math of what time it is where he is.

“Louis, baby, hey, sweet angel, how are you?” Nick rambles, and he hears Louis shift, murmuring under his breath as he probably tries to sit up, flick on a light, and maybe even put his glasses on.

“Nick?” Louis finally replies, voice all high and raspy from sleep, and Nick doesn’t care that he just woke him up, because that’s _Louis’ voice_ , that he shamelessly listened to recordings of because he was too damn scared to fucking call.

“Yeah, baby, hi, it’s me, did I wake you? I’m sorry baby, I just wanted to hear your voice, how are you?” Nick continues, and he can practically _hear_ the sour look on Louis’ face without him even saying a word.

“It’s been three weeks,” Louis says, sounding annoyed. Nick isn’t really sure why. He called him, right? Isn’t that what Louis wanted?

“Has it been that long? Time flies when you’re having fun, I suppose,” Nick laughs, but his throat feels dry and it’s more than a cough than anything.

“Right,” Louis says, sounding tired, distant. He is a thousand miles away, though. That makes sense.

“I just wanted to say that you’re so pretty. So beautiful. The beautiful-ist,” Nick murmurs, suddenly feeling half asleep.

There’s a short silence, and then, “Are you drunk?”

“No!” Nick replies, potentially too quickly to be plausible. He figures Louis realises that as well, not missing the way he scoffs.

“I tell you to call me and you do it three weeks after I leave completely wasted?” He snaps, and Nick hears the bitterness now, the anger, and he’s just confused. From the other line he hears shuffling, and, “Lou, are you alright?” presumably Harry, he’s a worrier, that one.

“Hi Harry,” Nick yells, and he makes himself wince at how loud he’s talking. Louis probably winces too. And damn, that makes him sad. Louis wincing. He should never have to wince ever again.

“Hang up, Nick. Louis’ trying to sleep,” Harry’s sleepy voice takes over, and Nick has a permanent frown on his face.

“He’s my boyfriend, I can call him if I want too,” Nick argues, feeling annoyed by this entire conversation. The vodka is making his head hurt, and he wonders if it’s making Louis and Harry act differently, too. Suddenly he hears shifting again and muffled arguing and then Louis has control of the phone again.

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Louis says shortly, and his voice cracks at the end. Nick barely catches it, but it’s there. “I was never your boyfriend before, and I’m not your boyfriend now. Fucking about for a few months doesn’t mean we were dating,” he continues, and he seems out of breath. Nick feels very much the same in that moment.

“Baby-,” he starts to say, but Louis cuts him off again.

“Stop. Shut up. I’m not your baby, or your sweetheart, or your anything, got it? So don’t fucking call me again. Though I’m sure you weren’t bloody planning on it.” Louis’ not-so-sweet voice ends and he’s met with the dial tone.

So, okay. That’s how his life is working right now.

Cool.

~

The doorbell ringing a few weeks later makes him jump out of his skin. It’s his first time sleeping since that night, it seems, and of course as soon as he finally passes out someone decides to come for a midnight pow-wow. He considers not getting up. There’s no reason to be up at this hour, especially when he’s in the middle of mourning here. People are so inconsiderate.

But then the bell rings again. And again. Fourth time, fifth time, sixth. It keeps going, until Nick swears to god he hears the chiming ringing in his ears and he lets out a loud, frustrated groan before he’s pushing himself out of bed and onto his feet. Pig is startled. He’ll apologise to her later.

He doesn’t really think about who it is, he’s too busy planning their death, regardless of who decided to show up so fucking early. He’s trying to wrangle on a shirt when he stops dead in his tracks because the shirt it’s - it’s too small.

Not only is it too small, it’s got a tea stain on it, and it’s some Superhero that came out way after Nick’s interest in superheros faded away. It’s Louis’.

The fact shouldn’t make him want to cry, is the thing. He’s a grown arse man. He’s a grown arse man holding a size _small_ (though really, he’s pretty fucking certain he’s seen extra-small on a few of Louis’ shirts’ tags) shirt with stains on it that had been crumpled up at the foot of his bed, as if Louis had left it there the night before, as if it hasn’t been two long, long months since Louis has stepped foot in this flat.

It makes him want to cry a bit, anyways.

The doorbell, however, stops for no emotional bullshit, and keeps ringing. Or - the person ringing the fucking bell, obviously doesn’t have any empathy.

“I’m fuckin’ comin’,” Nick snaps at the big oak door, crumples the shirt up in his hands and drops it to the ground before swinging the door open, a gust of wind bellowing inside. It’s pretty appropriate, actually, considering who’s standing in front of him.

“Oh,” Nick says, numbly. His fingers grip the doorknob and it’s so bloody freezing. He should close the door. Yeah, that would be a good idea. Close the door on Louis’ stupid, pretty, face.

He doesn’t do that, of course. Because Louis is too busy marching in.

“First of all, fuck you,” Louis says, loud and unbashful. He’s tipsy, angry in a way Nick hasn’t seen him before, at least not in person.

“Fuck you,” Nick repeats, slowly closing the door after him. Louis whirls around on his heel, eyes flashing red.

“You don’t get to say fuck you to me. You didn’t fucking call me!” He snaps, voice raising levels beyond Nick’s hearing range. He briefly wonders if Pig can hear him, but decides not to investigate further on that subject, it might get him slapped.

“I fucking did call you. And then you got mad at me,” Nick returns, eyebrows furrowed together. He’s a little wasted himself, but Louis is the kind of tipsy that would usually lead to a lapdance and a night full of rocking sex. This looks like it’s leading to Nick’s death.

“You called me three weeks into tour! Three weeks! You didn’t call to see if I made it off the plane okay, or if I was home sick, or if I missed you or the girls or my mum, you didn’t call me at all! We went six months without leaving each other’s sides and then you go three weeks without contacting me! And when you do you’re wasted and stupid!” Louis is screaming very loud. Nick is very lucky he doesn’t have neighbors near by.

“That’s not fair. You could have called me,” Nick continues, trying to stay calm. He takes a step towards Louis, who takes a step back. Nick tries not to feel hurt by that fact.

“I told you to call me, though. Why was that so hard? To fucking see how I was doing? Why was that so hard?” He asks, and his voice cracks again, like it had that night, but it’s much more noticeable now, Nick notes. He’s crying, too. There’s big fat tears streaming down his red cheeks and Nick feels - Nick feels so sad. He’s so incredibly sad that he has to be the cause of this. How the fuck did he become the cause of this?

“Baby,” he whispers, and starts walking towards him again, so relieved that Louis doesn't walk away this time, just sort of stumbles and falls against Nick’s chest, letting himself be caught and cradled, and for the first time in weeks Nick has his boy back in his arms and even though it’s not under the best circumstances, it’s something. It’s _something_.

He doesn’t say he’s sorry. He doesn’t sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness. But he brings Louis to bed and fucks him into the sheets, he kisses him until their jaws ache and makes him come three times. He doesn’t say he’ll never do it again. He doesn’t say he’ll try to be better. But in that moment, he swears it’s enough. It has to be.

It fucking has to be.

~

Except, for the fact, that it’s not.

Nick wakes the next morning to an empty bed, feeling cold. Louis’ side of the bed is as empty as it’s been for weeks, no trace of him ever being here. The only sign Louis had been there a few hours prior is his sock lying strewn across the bed. It has foxes on it. Nick remembers when Louis bought those socks, and now they’re in his bed and Louis is not.

He couldn’t have been stupid enough to think that just because they shagged, everything is better. He’s not that dumb in real life, but somehow he was last night. He was stupid enough to not whisper to Louis that he loved him, that he would call him every day if he had too, that he would put a fucking ring on his finger if it meant having him forever.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s so fucking stupid.

~

How he manages to make the same mistakes as before, he isn’t sure. He does call, though. He calls, and Louis doesn’t answer. He calls again and gets a customised voicemail. He calls a third time and Harry picks up with a soft apology saying not to call back.

So he doesn’t. And Louis can’t get mad that he doesn’t call this time around because he made it perfectly clear he wants nothing to do with him anymore. They fucked and it was great and it made him see stars but it’s not how they’re story ends, apparently.

He goes through life trying to avoid One Direction in a whole, which is pretty bloody awful considering his career choice, and smiles bitterly when people mention Louis to him. His friends who knew how close they got, they’ll tease him when the boys play in cabs or at the station. He’ll pretend to gush over Harry or Zayn or Liam or Niall, anyone but fucking Louis.

It helps the pain a little. Not a lot, but just enough to make him feel less dead inside. And maybe that’s all he needs, for now.

~

“Nick?” Harry’s voice is loud and alarmed in his ear. It’s early here, reaching that blurry time where he isn’t sure if it’s morning or night anymore. If he was awake enough he’d be able to try and figure out the timezone difference, but he just assumes it’s got to be an obscure time to be calling.

“Harry,” Nick replies dully, sitting up and trying to turn on the light.

“Louis’ smashed. Like, properly hammered. And he’s crying into Liam’s shoulder about how much he misses you, and I think if you just talked to him for a few moments it will make him perk up a little,” Harry says quickly, because he’s drunk and he always talks all fast like that when he’s drunk. It’s kind of amusing, actually. Or, it would be amusing, if Nick’s heart wasn’t breaking.

“Um. Okay,” he says, dumbly, and waits for the shuffling to stop on Harry’s end. He hears gentle whispers, soft spoken words, then Louis’ voice.

“Nick?” He asks, and he sounds so sad, so heartbroken and Nick wants to cry right along with him.

“Hi, baby. I heard you were drunk,” Nick says tiredly, running a hand over his face. The petname slides off his tongue easily. Especially when Louis isn’t here to kick him in the balls for it, anyway.

“I’m no such thing,” Louis protests, but his voice slurs and Nick knows he’s lying. It’s okay, though. He doesn’t mind.

“Alright, love, I believe you. Don’t be sad though, okay? You should be having fun with your boys. They hate when you’re sad, sweetheart, we all do, so lighten up a bit, yeah?” Nick continues, voice soothingly slow, hoping to help rather than hinder the situation.

“I just - I just miss you, s’all,” Louis whimpers, and his voice physically shakes. Nick’s heart is breaking more and more by the second, and if he didn’t have work tomorrow morning, he’d buy a ticket to whatever American state they’re in right now.

“Yeah, baby. I know. I miss you too. How’s this, I’ll meet you at the airport when you get back, okay? I’ll have Harry text me the details. It’s only a few more weeks, innit? You can handle that, angel, can’t you?” Nick is speaking to him like he’s a fragile piece of glass, but right now, he is.

Louis seems to sniff back mucus. It should be disgusting but he’s got a cold and he’s on tour and it’s so bloody endearing Nick has to physically hold onto something to stop himself from running to the airport so he can see him. “Okay,” he says, mournfully. His voice is muffled and Nick assumes he’s cuddling Liam or Harry, which, good. “Promise you will, though. Promise.”

“I promise on my fucking life, Lou,” Nick repeats seriously, and he’ll be bloody damned if he misses this, honestly. He fucked up once, he’s not going to make the same mistake twice.

“Okay,” Louis says again, voice cracking. “M’gonna go to bed now, I think. See you soon. I love you,” he murmurs, then Nick is, once again, met with the dial tone. He wonders if throwing his phone so hard against the floor that it breaks considers him crazy.

~

_‘You don’t have to go to the airport. I was drunk and just being stupid. I wouldn’t expect you to do that.’_

Nick wakes up to that text the next morning. It’s followed by a text from Harry around the same time with their flight information, and he thumbs over it for a minute, wondering what to do. He has time to decide, anyway. So what if Louis doesn’t want him to come, he’s going to do it anyway. He needs to fucking kiss him and hold him and say everything that he can’t say any other time of day, it seems.

In the weeks leading up to the Big Day, he’s nostalgic. He’s nostalgic about the way Louis would sit in his kitchen and make tea, or look up recipes online and try (and fail) to make them. He’s nostalgic about the way Louis trekked around naked or just in a pair of joggers or a big shirt, or how when he was horny he’d attack Nick as soon as he came home from the studio, legs around his waist, arms looped around his neck, and a warm mouth against his own, and an even warmer bum to grip and hold.

He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be that lucky again, is the thing, to get to experience what Louis gave him. Louis handed him a piece of himself he didn’t show anybody else - he was vulnerable and scared in front of him, admitted to feeling terrified of letting down his boys, the fans, his family, everybody.

Harry was his best friend but he couldn’t tell him those things so he told Nick, and Nick was happy to listen, to give him advice or just fuck him if things were too hard, too sad, too stressful to deal with.

He wasn’t very good with words. He could be funny and banter and when Louis is in the mood for it, it’s probably one of his favorite leisurely activities, arguing with Louis about god-knows-what, but when it came to being emotional and feelings and shit, he was better at making Louis feel good with his body rather than with his words.

So he misses that. He misses that dearly. He misses feeling Louis’ body tucked into his chest every morning, misses the shower sex, the kitchen sex, the club-bathroom sex, car sex, you name it, he misses it.

And when he’s standing in a semi-crowded airport with his hands tucked into his pockets and his eyes averting around nervously, he isn’t entirely sure what to think. He’s about to see Louis. He’s about to see him and hopefully hug him, too. Maybe he’ll get to kiss him and squeeze his arse and if he’s really lucky, take him home. Who knows if he’ll be that fortunate though. Few are, he realises. And after what he did to him, he doesn’t expect a lot of sympathy on Louis’ part.

He sees Niall first. Niall, who gives Nick a wave and then heads towards the car waiting to bring him home. Zayn next, who hardly acknowledges his existence. Liam gives him a worried glance but a smile nonetheless and Harry just kind of shakes his head.

“He forgot something on the plane, he’ll be out in a second,” he says, not looking too happy to see him, despite the fact Nick kind of considers Harry one of his best friends, but it’s whatever. He’s not here for Harry, he’s here for Louis.

But Nick just nods, regardless. It takes ten fucking minutes for Louis to finally make his way off the plane, and he looks grumpy. He’s wearing too big clothes with the hood of his jumper up, and he looks too endearing for his own good. He seems to be talking to someone on the phone so he doesn’t notice Nick at first, until he looks up and sees him, and very obviously stumbles.

It’s probably the cutest thing Nick has ever seen in his entire life.

Whoever Louis was on the phone with obviously isn’t that important because Louis hangs up, pockets his phone, and starts to fucking run. He drops his bags somewhere along the way, too, Nick kids you fucking not, this kid begins to sprint through the airport, and Nick barely has time to prepare himself before he’s being met with Louis bloody Tomlinson in his arms. He scoops his hands up under his bum and squeezes shamelessly, while Louis continues to wrap himself around him completely.

“You came,” Louis breathes into his cheek, like he can’t believe it.

“I wasn’t about to fuck up again,” Nick murmurs in response, giving him another squeeze, before they’re kissing. It’s not appropriate for the public eye. It’s messy and sloppy, full of tongue and too much teeth, gripping each other’s skin and laughing about it. Nick has handfuls of Louis’ arse and can’t stop squeezing it for the life of him, and if this isn’t a reunion made for movie screens, he doesn’t know what is.

“Reckon we both fucked up equally,” Louis murmurs thoughtfully, when they pull apart a little to breathe. He looks so pretty, red cheeks and red lips and red eyes, maybe from crying, maybe from the lack of sleep he got on the plane. Nick is man enough to admit he’s cried a few tears in the midst of this, okay.

He’s also man enough to know that if he agrees with Louis, he’ll most likely get a slap. He’ll happily take the blame for all of this, though, if it means he can have Louis like this forever, all warm and cuddly and squirmy in his arms.

“I love you,” Nick decides to say instead, swallowing hard. It’s not the first time they’ve said it, not even the hundredth time they’ve said it, but it was usually more jokingly, like, _thanks for getting my tea, love you_ , or _bye, love you, have fun at work_ , not proper declarations of love in a very public airport. He’s seen way too many romantic comedies for his own good.

Louis doesn’t shy away from it, though. He fucking embraces it, actually, and his fingers dig into Nick’s hair as their lips come crashing forward. It’s messy and gross and has too much tongue but it’s the best kiss Nick’s ever had the pleasure of receiving. Most importantly, it goes right to his dick.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, when they pull away. He’s still wrapped around Nick’s body like the fucking monkey he is, and on any other day he’d probably start cracking jokes about how heavy he was, but Louis felt light like he usually did, lighter, even, though he doesn’t necessarily want to think about Louis not eating properly on tour. That might just break his heart.

“This is usually the part where you say you love me too, so I’m not left looking like a dickhead,” Nick supplies for him, but he’s grinning. Louis is, too, so he knows he said the right thing.

“I love you, too,” he says, all seriously, and Nick believes him. Fuck, does he believe him. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

Nick is the one who brings him in for a kiss this time, cutting him off mid sentence and god, he missed this. He can’t believe he was about to let this boy get away from him so easily.

They kiss until they can’t breathe, until Nick starts walking backwards towards the general direction of where he’s parked his car. He doesn’t let him go until he absolutely has to, a bit too crowded for that type of PDA, but they’re all over each anyway, constant touches, constant squeezing, never enough, it’s never enough.

Nick’s memory of the drive home is blurry. He remembers making out in the car, with Louis settled on his lap until he has to physically remove him so that he can actually start the drive home. Home is relative right now, though. They’ll spend two days at Nick’s place and five days at Louis’ but each one will be home, because Louis is home right now, that’s just how it works.

When did he become so fucking cliche, honestly. Probably when a little annoying shit wiggled his way into his life and made a home in his skin, actually.

He carries him inside because he’s trying to make a grand gesture, or something, but he ends up tripping over a shirt left in the middle of the floor and ends up nearly dropping him. It’s funny even though Louis squeaks and Nick kisses him to shut him up, which turns into more kissing, which turns into sex on the floor. And then sex on the couch, and sex on the kitchen counter, and they even make it to the bedroom at some point, too.

Nick kisses every inch of his skin, to the dents in his back to his stomach. He kisses his thighs and his knees and his hole too, of course, because it’s not reunion sex without making Louis go all squirmy and whimpery on his front for Nick. It’s one of his favourite things, actually.

And when they’re so incredibly fucked out, sleepy eyes and tired, still roaming hands, Nick murmurs that he loves him one last time against his temple before they’ll pass out for the night and this whole thing will be nothing but a memory in their heads. (Except it will still be everything to Nick, always.)

“Love you too, arsehole,” Louis says pleasantly in a small, sleepy voice.

And, well. Nick will take that any day of the week.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed :')


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